


Wicked Chess

by welseykels



Series: Dragon Age: Emmalee Trevelyan [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Chair Sex, F/M, Floor Sex, Smut, Strip Games, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wicked Grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:17:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welseykels/pseuds/welseykels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor comes up with a creative way to return Cullen's clothing after the Wicked Grace game, while losing some clothing of her own in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Chess

**Author's Note:**

> [Check out my writing masterpage on tumblr!](https://welseykels.tumblr.com/writing)

Cullen wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He'd made himself a fool in front of everyone. Maker, he'd made himself a fool in front of Emmalee.

He stood there, naked, in the centre of his office, burning with embarrassment. It hadn't been enough that he'd lost every stitch of clothing he had been wearing to Josephine in front of his friends. No, he'd had to run all the way from the Herald's Rest to his office without any as well. Maker, he’d hoped that no one saw him, but despite that hope, he was certain the Commander’s sprint would be the talk of Skyhold tomorrow.

Maker, he'd thought he'd figured Josephine out. And now he looked the fool. And he didn't know what would get Josephine to give her winnings back. _Maker._

He was about to climb up his ladder and bury his face in shame into his bed, when he heard the knock on his door. He froze on the spot, who would be here at this time of night? He was tempted to ignore the door, hide away for the rest of the night, preparing for the inevitable jokes the next day. But it was when the voice called out from the other side of the door that he walked over to it, releasing the lock.

Emmalee stepped into the room and he unconsciously made to cover himself.

She giggled, “It’s not like I haven’t seen you undressed before, Commander.”

They’d been intimate quite frequently since that first time together weeks ago, learning each other’s bodies, what brought each other pleasure. However, she wasn’t usually wearing her clothes either by the time he reached this state of undress. He humphed, scowling until he focused on what she carried in her hands. A sack that jangled with the sound of metal clanging together each time she moved.

He raised an eyebrow at her, he had a good idea what was in the bag, and he made to ask her. Before he could, she raised a finger to his lips before turning and walking over to his desk. She slowly, almost torturously, cleared the stacks of paper off his desk, placing them in neat piles on the side table. When she was done, she started to unpack the bag. He found he was right with every item that was placed on the surface of his desk. First came his chest plate, bracers, and all the bits of armour he wore. Next came his fur mantled cloak. The red and gold wrap he wore. His boots. His leather pants and belt. His over and under shirts. Finally, with a blush spreading across her cheeks, his smallclothes made their way to the top of the pile.

He took a step forward, hands reaching out for the clothing. She took a step in between him and his goal, and his hands met her hips instead of his clothing.

She waggled a finger at him, “Not yet, love. I had to promise Josephine a lot of things to get these from her. You’re not going to simply get them back, you’re going to have to earn them.”

"Earn them?"

"Yes."

He smirked, the scar raising his lip further. Dipping his head, he started to place kisses along the shell of her ear as he asked, "And just how might I earn them, Lady Trevelyan?"

The tone of his voice caused shivers to rock down her spine, lighting her insides on fire. No, she would have it her way. He would have to play her game if he wanted to win his wagered clothing back. Ignoring his groan of disappointment as she pushed him slightly away from her, she made her move. "By playing a game against me for them."

He huffed and rolled his eyes. "Another game of Wicked Grace? Maker, I'll never see my armour again!"

"I'm not done yet with my rules."

He shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the other as he waited for her to explain.

"Choose a game. Any game. And that's what we'll play."

It didn't take him long to choose, knowing he would want the advantage this time. "Chess."

She smirked. She thought he'd say that. She'd hoped he'd say that. "Alright. With each chess piece you capture of mine, you'll get an item of your clothes back."

He moved back towards her, his hands running down her sides. Maker, it was maddening how ravishing she always looked. But tonight, tonight had been different, his desire for her intensified. Instead of her usual tan uniform, she wore something he had never seen before. Tight black pants that hugged every single one of her curves, covered by boots that ended mid-thigh. Her shirt however was what had been the worst torment of the evening. She wore a dark emerald green blouse with billowy sleeves. It had a high collar, accentuating how long her neck was. A neck he loved to trail his lips over, making her moan from his touch. There was a clasp at the hollow of her throat, under that the shirt opened, a window in the fabric went all the way down to halfway between her breasts and navel before it began to button again. It gave him the perfect view of the skin between her breasts and the sides of them, and the freckles that covered them.

It had been hard to not look at her once his smalls joined the rest of his clothing on the tavern's table. If he did, well, he wouldn’t have only been embarrassed because he was without his clothes. He could feel the heat that he had narrowly avoided in the tavern rush to his groin as he looked at her. And the words she said next lit his blood aflame.

“If I take a piece of yours, I take a piece of my clothing off.”

Maker, he could already feel himself growing harder at the thought. “So, I win both ways. Even more so if I lose. I could get to like this game.”

She moaned as he ground against her, his embarrassment from earlier almost completely forgotten.

“But love, I have much more clothing to win back than you have to take off. I count maybe five items you have to take off.” He mentally counted her shirt, her pants, her two boots, and her small clothes.

She giggled. “Four.”

_Maker, that meant she wasn’t wearing smalls._

He buried his face in the window of her blouse. “Fine, for every - ah - piece you win from me, you can take two…” He nipped at the soft flesh of the side of her breast that was exposed. “Three! Three items back.”

He growled as she danced away from his touch, heading over to the shelves where he kept his chess set. When she returned, she moved his clothing to the side of the desk, while she placed the chess set on the other, setting herself on top of the center of the desk.

Maker, she was beautiful. And that was just on top of all the things he loved about her. Her grace, her kindness, her humor, but all his aching center cared about at the moment was how she looked in the light of the lanterns.  She'd even left her hair loose like he liked, the raven curls flowing down past her shoulders. 

She gestured for him to sit in his chair as she set the pieces on the board. He moved the chair to the side of his desk, the board between them. If he had sat in the chair's usual place, she would have been right above him, and he didn’t want to test how much self restraint he had at the moment, to not to sweep everything off the surface and lay her back to take her like he had after their return from Adamant.

It didn’t take him long to take her first piece. He had tried not to take it, kept the move off for as long as he could, but he knew she was going to draw this out for as long as she could before her clothes were strewn on his floor. He humored her, removing one of her lesser pieces from the board.

“So, what pieces of clothing shall you take, Commander?”

He moved to take back each of his boots, setting them on the floor beside him, then returning to pick the third piece, as she had promised. He took his fur mantled cloak, putting in on as he sat back down in the chair.

If she was going to tease him with her clothing tonight, he would do his own in return. He knew how it made her feel when he wore this, and only this. He left it open enough that she would be able to see his chest and the soft blond hair on it that trailed it’s way further down his torso. He could see her face already begin to flush at the sight of him, pulling her thighs together on top of the desk.

He let her take the next piece, setting up his pieces until there were too many of them exposed that she had to take one of them. She held out her foot to him, gesturing that he remove the boot on her left foot, almost knocking over pieces in the process. He all but yanked the boot off of her, throwing it behind him as he kissed her ankle.

She pulled her foot away, clucking her tongue at him. "Not yet, Commander."

Not only was she torturing him with this game, with her clothes, but she was torturing him with her words. She knew just how much he loved when she used his given name, she was purposely avoiding using it, hiding behind his title instead. Maker, he wanted her to moan his name. And she would. He would let her play her little game first, but then he would have her writhing beneath him, even above him, he didn't care. But before the sun had rose he would make sure that the only word she could remember was his name.

Another piece taken by him. His smalls, trousers, and undershirt were returned.

Another piece taken by her. Her right boot, this time she took it off herself, sliding the leather agonizingly slow down her leg.

Another for him: both of his bracers and his chest plate.

He could feel his erection against his abdomen when she was forced to remove one of his chess pieces again. Her fingers moved to the button at her throat, lingering there as she stared hungrily at him. She undid the buttons on her blouse slowly, torturing him with each move, the fabric slipping away from her arms and to the floor. _Maker, she would be the death of him._

Her breasts were beautiful in the light, pale and freckled. He found himself aching for her, aching to be inside her. Her nipples were already tight with arousal, and he wondered just how wet he would find her once those pants came off.

He breasts bounced as she laughed at his expression. He had the same dumbstruck by desire look on his face as he had the first time she'd bared herself to him. She knew she'd never get over that wonderful look.

He had to capture two more pieces until all his clothing was returned, but there was only one more piece that separated her sex from his.

_Andraste preserve him, he didn’t mind losing a game to her at all. He would lose to her for the rest of their lives if she let him._

She tried her best to outmaneuver him, to force him to take her pieces and draw out this tension between them, but he cornered her for the third time, leaving her with no choice but to take the last piece and take off the last piece of her clothes.

For this, she slipped off the desk and moved until she was standing between his legs, her hands moving to take his. She brought his fingers to the pant’s waistband, allowing him to set the pace that they came off. He toyed with the edge of the fabric for a moment, before leaning forward to take one of her breasts in his mouth. She moaned at the contact, but still refused to sigh his name.

The pants came off far quicker than he had intended, his desire getting the better of his control. She gasped at the rush of cool air on the dampness of her mound, his fingers hastily parting her folds. _Maker, she was wet._ His fingers worked their way around her folds, stroking her, until he touched the bundle of nerves that had her crying out. Her hands flew to his shoulders, supporting herself as her legs began to shake with pleasure. Still, she wouldn’t say his name.

He pulled her into his lap as he inserted a finger in her, his mouth moving to swallow the sounds she was making. Maker, hearing her like this, he never wanted moments like these to end. She adjusted so that her legs were on either side of his on the chair, her hands clinging even harder to his shoulders for support. He slowly inserted a second finger as she began to roll her hips against his hand. His other hand went to cup her rear, squeezing lightly as it offered her more support.

He moved to suck at the soft skin high on her neck, leaving marks that he knew would be wonderfully dark the next day. He wondered if she would wear this new blouse to cover them, so for good measure, he left a matching mark in the space between her breasts, right in line with the shirt’s window. Damn keeping their relationship quiet, he would have everyone in the whole of Skyhold know that he was the one who brought the Inquisitor pleasure night after night. She’d given him plenty of her own marks, and he’d born them proudly above the collar of his breast plate.

Her head fell back slightly as she began to bounce on his fingers, deriving her own pleasure from him, one hand drifting up to tangle in his hair. His mouth continued their assault on to her breasts, nuzzling, kissing, licking, and nipping at her flesh. He left marks and gooseflesh in his wake, keeping his tongue in time with her movements.

One of her hands drifted between to hold him, to stroke him, to build his pleasure higher. He was aching for her touch, burning for it, but he swatted her hand away.

“No, this time is about you.”

“ _Cullen_.”

There it was, what he had been wanting to hear. He could tell she was close, her eyes were screwed shut and she was panting. The sweat dripping down her skin shining in the light. He could feel her walls clenching around his fingers, pulsating with pleasure. Her hips began to stutter in their movements.  He felt it around his fingers before he heard it. But he certainly heard her come, along with anyone near his tower, her moan of his name quickly changing into a pleasured scream.

He kept his fingers moving, even though her walls tried to keep them still. He finally stopped when he hips stilled against him, her head falling to rest on his shoulder, her breathing laboured.

They stayed like that for several minutes before they stood with Cullen holding her, her legs still too shaky to stand on her own. He removed his cloak, throwing it to the floor so that it was spread like a blanket. Carefully, he laid her down on top of the fabric, her lips parting in an ‘O’ as she realized just where in his office he was going to take her. She smiled as she parted her legs so that he could nestle between them, her hand drifting between them to grasp at his aching member, guiding him into her.

His vision hazed at the feeling of her surrounding him. _Maker, he was closer than he’d thought._ His hips began to roll at a slow pace, drawing almost completely out of her before back in.

“Please, Cullen.”

He began to rock faster, plunging into the hilt. His own hips stuttering as he neared his climax. Her lips trailed along his shoulder, kissing the trails her nails left in their wake. He shifted his weight to one hand, the other reaching down to her centre, running his fingers over her sensitive nub. He’d have her screaming his name many more times that night if he had his way, but he didn’t want to finish this first time before she came again. He could feel her tightening around him once more and knew that she was nearing the crest of her pleasure again.

He felt sweat trickle down his chest, dripping off him to land on her. Her eyes fluttered closed as he dipped his head and crashed his lips into hers. His tongue begging for entrance as it swept across her lower lip. She opened her mouth freely, her breaths coming out her nose in hard huffs.  His hand continued to work in time with his hips, building both their pleasures to a peak. Her mouth only left his when he felt her walls pull him in once more.

“Cullen, I love y-” Her words changed into a moan as she shook around him. He whispered his own I love you’s into her ear as his own end chased hers, his seed spurting into her in hot ropes. He caught himself with his forearm as his body began to give out on him.

They stayed like that for some time, their lips coming together, passionate and gentle at the same time.  Eventually slipping out of her, he rolled onto his back, pulling her close to his side. Her face nuzzled into his shoulder as he began to chuckle.

“Maybe I should lose at Wicked Grace more often.”


End file.
